Geared
by Ashti
Summary: Mage story. Third chapter added! The story continues! But the locale is still Gronick, South Dakota. Which isn't any less made up than before.
1. Teaser

_Disclaimer: I own Mal. I own the story idea. ... That´s about it, really. Heh._

_When I stay up too late, I get ideas. This was one of them._

_This bit conceived and written the 20th of January, 2005. _

_Warning: WIP_

**Geared - Teaser**

There were nights that he found himself unable to sleep. There were nights when there were memories teasing him with whispers of their full selves, even as they eluded him effortlessly.

There were nights when unnamed horrors wouldn't allow him any rest.

And then there were nights like these.

When Mal would wake up in the middle of the night, flee from his bed and press himself into the farthest corner of the room and try to remember to breathe.

They didn't happen often, but often enough for the man to appreciate that they only happened every now and then.

Unfortunately, tonight was one of those 'every now and then's.

_tbc_


	2. Chapter 1

_AN: Feel free to tell me I'm being too vague, too useless or just plain annoying by withholding the whole 'what's going on' part of the story. I'm sure I won't mind, heh. Any comments about grammar and spelling are, since I'm not native English myself, appreciated as well. I think I do a fair job, but there are things I don't know, of course. (Such as fizz, hee. But never mind that holiday anecdote..)_

_Enjoy the first chapter!_

**Geared - Chapter 1**

The morning sun peered in through the window, the curtains doing little more than dampen the light. It didn´t stop the small thin shaft of sunlight that managed to slip in between the slit, though.

As his shoulder warmed up, the man, who had either lost consciousness due to a shortage of breath or just fell asleep again due to exhaustion - he never could tell which - frowned a bit at the sensation, even though it wasn't entirely unpleasant.

He groaned as he opened his eyes and blinked, taking a moment to jumpstart his brain.

That was another thing the Englishman despised about nights like these. He was usually immediately alert and aware of everything around him the moment he woke up, but on mornings like this - after nights like that - his programming failed him.

It took him another moment to get to his feet, swaying a little.

Lord, but he needed some tea…

His morning routine kicked in and he allowed himself another minute to doze as he automatically grabbed everything required for a quick morning shower and disappeared into the small bathroom adjacent to his rather sparsely furnished hotel-room.

Five minutes later found Mal in the kitchen, all freshened up and dressed in a pair of easy jeans and a dark blue clingy turtleneck, boiling some water to set the tea.

As he waited for the click on the water-boiler, Mal sat down on the chair at the kitchen-table and stared at the horribly outdated green blue lines that indicated it was hip back in the latter part of the fifties.

While the tea-water started to simmer, Mal recalibrated his eye-sight. There was something off with his right lens, for some reason, and it kept flashing and readjusting so that one tenth of a second it would be brighter, a black flash of inactivity followed, only for it to stubbornly set on a darker shade than his left lens.

He finished just as the water-boiler beeped and, smiling slightly at the timing, Mal stood and poured the water into a tea-pot, dunking a teabag in it with practiced ease.

While the tea took its time getting ready, Mal produced a smart and slim looking padd from out of seemingly nowhere. That wasn't technically true, of course, but the technology that was used to store it was probably a bit more advanced than could properly be explained unless one had a firm basics in several subdivisions of science.

It worked, and the how of it made sense to Mal, and that was really all that mattered when you were a Mage.

He sighed deeply for a moment, then pulled out a small and thin cylindric pointer, which he used to tap at the screen. Practice makes perfect and repetition made easy, so while to anyone watching, Mal's hand moved unbelievably fast, he couldn't say he received any special upgrades for speed beyond the normal ones custom to anyone being sent to outer space in his capacity.

Finished in no time, Mal put the padd down again, to pour himself a cuppa. As he reached into one of the cabinets for a clean glass, his padd let out a polite and quiet beep. As if it were the most normal thing in the world, Mal spoke, his English accent accompanying his slightly curt tone.

"Yes, another one."

The padd made no sound after that, and Mal sat down, having added a clump of sugar which he was now dispersing into the tea-water by use of a spoon, which clinked happily against the inside of the cup whenever it hit.

The pen was picked up again, and to the casual observer it appeared that the man was making minor notations, pushing buttons, and dragging things from here to there on the small screen of the padd. The pen was put aside, put down carefully so that it lay in an exactly straight line next to the padd at a distance of 1 cm.

Mal placed his palm on the padd, took a very long and much-needed sip of his tea and sighed as he closed his eyes to enjoy the taste completely for a moment.

Tea had always done wonders to help him relax.

Now then. He sat a little straighter, but his eyes did not re-open and as he placed the cup on the table, his fingers curled lightly against the small source of warmth and comfort, he spoke again, briefly, to instructing his padd.

"Commence Search."

And so Mal remained, with the tea slowly turning cold in the cup as he stayed in that exact position, his eyes unmoving behind their lids and his breathing so even and relaxed that it was unnoticable.

He'd be back later.

_tbc_


	3. Chapter 2

_AN: Wahey, an update! Whoah, I totally didn't see that one coming. Honest, I didn't. Something else was supposed to happen this chapter. Obviously, this means it didn't._

_Enjoy the second chapter regardless!_

_This bit (mostly) conceived and written (completely) on February 15th, 2006. :)_

**Geared - Chapter 2**

Gronick, South Dakota, was a quiet little town, not anywhere particularly close to it's capital Pierre, but for the moment, it held everything Mal needed.

For one, there was a distinct lack of Agents anywhere within the city limits that would be looking for him. Half or less of the team assigned to this particular area of the State were expected to make another routine visit to the quaint and quiet little town two days from now.

They would be staying here for two more days, before leaving again for their headquarters. Then Mal would have one day before another visit was made, probably by another pair of Agents.

For another, there was someone here who would point him to someone who would be very helpful.

If his research on the matter was correct, then he would have no problem convincing a certain Jan Millers to, preferably, give him accurate and up-to-date information on the current whereabouts of the low-profile deviant #10021249007.65FRl8, a.k.a. Jesper "Esmée" Bakers, who, despite a lack of matching DNA, succesfully posed as the grandfather of the aforementioned Jan Millers.

Mal quietly admitted to himself that he would settle for a last known location if the woman proved unreasonable. The former Agent had more than one way to find people that would be useful to him, after all.

"Right," he said, breaking the silence in the small compartment of the rental car before pushing himself to action. He would have been in and out that paint shop with the required information on any other given day. Days like today, though, seemed to exist outside of the regular space time continuum when it came to that.

Mal pulled the key out of the ignition and got out of the small and compact Volvo, closing and locking thedirty white door.

Putting both the key and his hands in the dark blue blazer he'd picked up, he crossed the parking lot, moving towards the paint shop that belonged to Jan Millers and her husband.

Mal glanced inside the shop as he passed the window, which proudly proclaimed this to be the 'Miller's Paint Shop' for anyone to see in an abhorrent display of colours that didn't so much not match as just didn't go together.

_.. would have an apoplectic fit if he saw that.._

A fond smile appeared on his lips as he pushed the door open, but it wasn't the unexpected sound of the jangling sleigh bells strategically placed above the door that caused him to frown at the memory he couldn't quite place. No, they merely caused him to startle.

"Be with you in a minute, look around why don't you?" came the advice from somewhere in the shop. The voice sounded vaguely distracted and Mal took grateful use of the moment to collect his nerves and close the door amidst another discordant jangle of bells.

Looking mildly flustered for no good reason that he could find, other than today being 'one of those days', Mal approached the counter and sighed to himself as his programming took over to scan the shop for werewolves or anything unusual that he would know how to handle.

Werewolves, at least, made a certain sense on days like these.

"Right, sorry for taking so long," a woman appeared from behind a door, wiping a pair of hands that looked dipped in a new coat of paint as she wiped them on her trousers, a matching stripe on her left cheek and forehead.

Alright, Mal admitted, this too was unusual, but not quite the unusual he had expected. Still, one took what one could get..

"Ah, Mrs. Jan Millers?" He asked in his polite English accent.

"Ooh, not from around here, are we?" The woman's amused grin widened into a sheepish one as she waved a decidedly green hand in a vaguely dismissive manner, "Oh, don't mind me, I've been waiting for years to try that one. Since so many people tried it on _me_ when I first got here.. Used to live north of the state line."

Mal, not really having any frame of reference when it came to North and South Dakota accents, blinked for a moment. "Ah, no, that's.. quite alright, really.."

He cleared his throat and frowned a bit, then tried to get as close to the sequence he'd come up with for the situation. "Ah, I'm not here for any paint, actually. I'm here to talk to you about your grandfather, Mr. Bakers? You wouldn't happen to.. ? Mrs. Millers? Are you alright? Maybe you should.."

Before Mal could finish his suggestion about her sitting down, Mrs. Miller had already taken to the floor.

Walking quickly around the counter, he knelt to inspect the woman's inert form on the floor. She was breathing, but unconscious.

.. It.. would appear that she had fainted.

Well, that was certainly not something he had expected..

The large shadow that accompanied the heavy footfalls headed in their direction _had_ been, although, not exactly in this situation.

"And what do you think_you're_ doing, Mister?"

.. Bugger.

_tbc_


	4. Chapter 3

_AN: And another update! Man, that took me longer than I had expected, I have to admit._

_Here's the third chapter, in which stuff is agreed to. I'm not entirely happy with it, and I'm not too sure on the beginning, as I'm using a different POV there than Mal's. It switches back pretty early on, but let me know what you guys think (or should I say, what _you _think, Baeraad ;) Seeing as how you're the only one actually taking the time to review. laughs) of it soI can either rewrite it if I ever feel like it or something anyway._

_The line, it irks me!_

_As does the end, to be honest._

_Hrm. Anyway.._

_This bit conceived and written on February 12th and 13th, 2006. :) Gotta love early mornings ;)_

_Enjoy this chapter!_

**Geared - Chapter 3**

The first thing that Mrs. Jan Bakers was aware of was the sound of voices, talking quietly to one another.

One of them sounded like Harold but..

She groaned. Ooh, bad move, bad move, bad, let's not move for a bit now..

"Jan? You okay, honey?" The conversation had stopped and her husband, at least, had moved close enough to put his hand on her shoulder.

"Hmmhmmm," she said, her eyes still closed, as she moved one hand - carefully - to her forehead. A sudden thought struck her, and she looked embarrassed. "God, don't tell me I fell down the step ladder again.."

Her husband chuckled, "No, Jan, you didn't."

She frowned, confused. Then why was she lying on the couch with a bit of a headache and..

"You fainted when I mentioned your late grandfather, Mrs. Millers. My apologies and," the other voice from the hushed conversation spoke, "my condolences."

"Oh." She said. ".. Yeah. Um. Thanks?" She squeaked, just a bit.

---

Well, Mal thought as the woman excused herself for a moment to get an aspirin only to be interrupted by her husband who then went and got her one and a glass of water besides, that went better than expected.

"Um," the woman said, looking a bit awkward, as if feeling exposed underneath his casual scrutiny. Training was hard to get rid of, he supposed. He cleared his throat a little, and frowned, awkward himself.

"I didn't mean to, ah, cause such a stir," he said, an apologetic look on his face, "If I had known.."

"No, no, that's.. that's quite alright. You didn't." She seemed strangely relieved as the words left her, looking a little better. "It came as quite a shock, I must admit."

She smiled, only a little more strained than she had back in the shop before her spectacular dive to the floor, as her husband returned, aspirin, water and all.

"Thank you, dear," she said, taking the glass of water and popping the aspirin back. Lifting her glass in a toast of some sort, she downed the medicine.

"I mean," she went on in an agreeable tone of voice, "I always sort of figured my Grandfather couldn't die. I suppose all of us did, really.." She trailed off, for a moment.

At Mal's questioning look, her husband added, "I guess we did. He just never got sick or nothing. Not even when the flu hit the entire town out back." He shook his head. "It's been what, two months? It's still pretty hard to just.. wrap your mind around it, you know?"

Mal's quiet 'ah' and reserved nod seemed to imply that he did.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Mrs. Millers suddenly exclaimed, her eyes wide as she looked at Mal. "Here we are, going on and on, and we haven't even been introduced yet!"

Harold chuckled again and Mal guessed his wife was of the absent-minded sort more often. "Allow me," the large man said.

"Jan, honey, this is Mr. Sands. He's an acquaintance of Granddad," because friends didn't help chase down friends to have them 'evaluated for the good of the cause', "Apparently, they share a common interest."

He waggled his eyebrows in a tell-tale manner, and his wife sent a confused look between her husband and the man who had been introduced as Mr. Sands.

"Interest?" She repeated, not all that enlightened apparently.

"Ah, yes," Mal spoke up at that point, the mild awkwardness in his face and voice not at all because of the words that passed as truth. "We met due to our interest in, ah, tinkering, I suppose you could call it.."

"Oh!" Jan's eyes went wide at that. "You mean you're an inventor too? Ooh!" Sudden excitement appeared on her face. "Are you part of that Extraordinary League of Inventors as well, then? He always said someday someone might show up and reclaim his goods when he was gone, but as Harold said, we never really did believe he could die.. Or that there was such a thing as an Extraordinary League of.."

At Mal's slightly confused and surprised look, Jan narrowed her eyes a little and seemed a bit upset. "There isn't one, is there? He was just having me on, and oooh, I swear, if that man were still alive, I would, ooh! Sometimes!"

"Now, now, dear," Harold took a step closer to his wife, putting his hands on her shoulders, and calming her down a bit. "You can't blame Granddad for the things he said or did, he's dead and gone now, and.." As Jan started sniffling rather loudly, the large man had the decency to look sheepish. ".. I just put my foot in, didn't I?"

Mal had been trained to do many things. From flying space-shuttles, to working with any given number of weapons that didn't 'exist' yet back here on Earth, to fight Deviants both planet-bound as well as Out There, to defusing bombs of most types and had a number of degrees in fanciful names to do with engineering and physics.

But nowhere in his entire time with the Technocracy had there ever been a course on 'how to deal with grieving (adult) grandchildren'. That meant he had to improvise.

Normally, this wasn't all that bad an idea.

"No, that's not it," he said hastily, "It's just that, I wasn't aware he had told anyone about us. The League, I mean. We're kind of a.. oh, a closed community." He nodded, then, more to himself than to either grieving adult in the room. "Yes, that's it."

.. He just hoped they didn't ask how it came to be that an esteemed member of their club had perished without him knowing.

"Really?" Jan sniffled from within her husband's arms, swiping a tear or two away.

Mal felt really rather ridiculous as he nodded again and said, "Yes. Really."

This was definitely not part of the conversation that he had planned. For a moment, he wished Louisa were here so they could get on with getting the needed information, but Louisa would probably be too busy apprehending him and apologising for the intrusion as they carted him off back to..

Well, he'd just have to make do then, Mal told himself, attempting to derail that particular train of thought.

But even as his mind whispered '_Room 101_' at him, he knew he hadn't quite managed.

"As a matter of fact," Mal sighed, though not because of his words, "I am here to reclaim the.. inventions your grandfather made. As you know, " or didn't, the former Technocracy agent supposed as he went on, "we're a rather closed community, and we communicate mostly in an anonymous matter with one another, and as such, we're not always aware of where exactly our members are at one time or another."

"As I had met the man face-to-face before, I was asked to 'do the honours', I suppose one could say, and see if there was anything to, ah, take back to the League."

At the slight frown that appeared on Jan's face - despite his rather intimidating size, Harold had been catalogued as not involved in the decision making because he obviously wasn't - Mal hurried to add the "Under the supervision and with the permission of the surviving family members, of course."

.. Of course, perhaps that wasn't the best thing to say either, because then Jan started to sniffle again.

"Tell you what, Mr. Sands," Harold spoke, stroking his wife's hair. "How about I talk it over with the missus, and we'll get back to you on that. You're staying somewhere in town?"

No, he wasn't.

But this was too good to pass on. "Yes, that'd be splendid, actually. I'm currently staying at.. " Mal paused a moment, before nodding, "the Sleeping Hound Hotel. I'm afraid I don't have the number on me, but.."

"It's in the yellow pages, we'll find it." Harold reassured him.

And with that, apparently, they were done for now.

Never mind that it took Mal another moment to notice. Days like these..

"Right! I'll be at the hotel, then. Excuse me." And with that, he let himself out, not even noticing the jangle of bells this time as he walked towards his little beat up Volvo.

Unlocking the door, Mal slid inside the little car, and, after closing the door, pulled a small handheld device from his inner pocket.

Or so it seemed, anyway.

A quick check and a look at the map later, Mal turned the key in the ignition and headed towards the Sleeping Hound Hotel in Gronick, South Dakota.

Time to check in.

And then?

Time to wait.

_tbc_


End file.
